Speak Now
by Baffled Queen
Summary: 'Logan's arm was broken. Logan was hungry. He was soaked to the bone with rain, and covered in soft mud. Most of his days were spent waiting and stewing with his thoughts. He was in a hole in the ground- a pit, really. And he was deep into Federation territory.'


Logan's arm was broken. Logan was hungry. He was soaked to the bone with rain, and covered in soft mud. Most of his days were spent waiting and stewing with his thoughts. He was in a hole in the ground- a pit, really. And he was deep into Federation territory. "Two weeks, kid. No one is gonna come get you." Rorke's words seemed to echo around his head. He blatantly spat profanities in response. Rorke chuckled at him. Logan closed his eyes and tried to sleep. His dreams were colored with pain and grieving. He wouldn't join them.

Logan's arm was broken. Logan was very hungry. He was blistered and raw from the heat of the sun, and very tender. Most of his days were spent in silence, drowning in fury. He was in a hole in the ground- a pit, really. And he was deep into Federation territory. "Thirty-six days, kid. No one is gonna come get you." Rorke's words seemed to echo around his head. Logan closed his eyes and tried to sleep. The burning sun hung brightly in the sky.

Logan's arm had to be re-broken, as they didn't like the way it had healed- or like _him_, for that matter. Logan was starving. Most of his time was spent cradling his arm, in pain. He was plagued with nightmares, and hounded by his demons. Stinging flies and bullet ants left him pockmarked and miserable. He was in a hole in the ground- a pit, really. And he was deep into Federation territory. "Three months and two weeks, kid. No one is gonna come get you." Rorke's words seemed to echo around his head. Logan closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He started screaming not twenty minutes later.

Logan's arm had finally healed, but he treated it with caution. Logan didn't really remember what being full was like, but he had learned how to best manage the empty feeling he _did_ know. Most of his time was spent staring at the bright, free, blue sky. He was covered in scars, and each had it's own story- he retold all of them to the empty air over and over. He was in a hole in the ground- a pit, really. And he was deep into Federation territory. "Six months and four days, kid. No one is gonna come get you." Rorke's words seemed to echo around his head. He just blinked up at him groggily. Logan closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He had very little energy, lately.

Logan was exhausted. Logan was covered in dirt, and mud, and various bodily fluids. Most of his time was spent trying to keep himself together. He was dirty, and his stomach was empty. He was willing to bet he reeked, as well. He was being taken from his hole in the ground- his pit, really. And he was dragged (read; carried) away. "Nine months to the day, kid. You need a bath." Rorke sat right in front of him, but he couldn't raise his head to look him in the eye. They buckled him into a jeep like a small child, patronizing and taunting the whole while. Logan closed his eyes and tried to sleep. All he got for his trouble was the coldest shower he'd ever taken. He shrieked a good number of horrible words when the freezing cold water woke him up. They laughed.

Logan... was _not_ in his pit. Logan was not soaking in the rain, or broiling in the sun. He was not exposed to all of the elements directly, and nor was he coated with the grime of a long time spent outside. His routine had been disbanded. Or changed. "Nine months and a week, kid. No one is gonna come get you." Rorke sat in front of him, staring. Logan regarded the plate in front of him with nothing but distrust. He'd heard the stories, knew what was most likely there. Eventually Rorke went away, but he left the plate behind. Logan didn't touch it.

Logan was in a cramped room. He was still starving, though they offered him food. It was as though it had just occured to them to interrogate him. He was still deep in Federation territory, but now he was inside. His routine was changed, but he didn't feel like it was a good kind of change. "Ten months, kid. No one is going to come get you." Rorke sat in front of him, staring. Logan regarded the plate in front of him with nothing but distrust. Eventually, Rorke went away. He left the plate behind. Logan didn't touch it, but he did stare at it.

Logan was in a cramped room- not the _same_ cramped room, but a different one. A room where he was tied to a chair with leather straps. He was covered with bruises and cuts. Every part of him ached, and he tilted his head back. "Happy anniversary, kid. I don't think I even need to tell you, huh?" Rorke sat in front of him, staring. Logan regarded the plate in his hand and _wanted_, _desperately_. A drop of blood ran from his temple to his chin, and then fell. He cried silently when Rorke fed him, but didn't fight. They had to clean his vomit off of the walls.

Logan was in a cramped room, the one with the chair and straps. Every finger he had was broken, and some of them were burned. When there were no more fingers to break, they broke his wrists one at a time. "A year and two months. You're making them angry, you know." Rorke sat in front of him, staring. Logan watched his fingers twitch restlessly. This time he didn't cry when Rorke fed him, and he didn't fight. He ate, docile as a lamb. He puked just before Rorke made it out of the room- it hit the man's calves and everything below. Logan awarded himself ten points some hours later, when the pain subsided. Whatever they laced their food with, it was potent.

Logan was in the cramped room. Logan was very hungry. There was a knife digging into his skin, and an almost soft voice whispering promises- lies. His ankles throbbed from when he'd jerked awake, tugging at the straps. They were sprained. His face, torso, and arms were colored with the greens and yellows of old bruises, and the purples and blacks of fresh ones. He did not answer his interrogator, and eventually he left. "A year and three months. I'm startin' to wonder if you're gonna break the record." Rorke sounded almost proud. Logan said nothing, as usual, but he drank the water he was given. "You ready for round two?" He wouldn't, _couldn't_ join them.

Logan was in a cramped room- not the _same_ cramped room, but a different one. A strange one. Logan was surrounded by a group of Federation soldiers. There were six men, each he recognized as interrogators he'd seen before. "Is he any good, do you think?" One asked, gesturing vaguely at Logan. "We'll have to find out, eh?" Another smirked, eyes flashing. They leave him sticky, sweaty, and aching. He feels empty and used. It takes him several minutes to regain the will to move, and when he does it's difficult. He gets as comfortable as he can- doesn't bother trying to clean up. Logan closes his eyes and tries to will himself to death. It becomes a weekly cross to bear. He hates them even more for it.

Logan was back in his cramped room. Logan was strapped into his chair again. He had been cleaned up, but his neck had bruises now, too. They, and the throbbing pain in his ass, were the only proof that it had actually happened. " A year and six months- _shit,_ son." Rorke was back from wherever it was he went when he wasn't here to smack Logan around. The look on his face went from shock to anger to blank in about two seconds. He continued as usual- like nothing had happened. Next week, it was just him. It hurt worse then usual, and Logan gained some fresh cuts. They had to clean his blood from the floors. He whimpered a little bit every time he saw Rorke for a week afterward.

Logan was in his cramped room. Logan was punched into consciousness. He had been knocked out not two minutes ago. His previous interrogator was gone, and Rorke in his stead. "Two years, kid. Congrats on breaking to record." Rorke actually sounded impressed- Logan was willing to bet that he'd been the previous record holder. Logan said nothing, just sat there limply and let the torture continue. They'd broken his fingers again, and a kneecap- they'd been a bit excited. It was their second anniversary together, after all. Or at least, that was what they'd told him. There was no real way of knowing.

Logan was in his (really quite small) room. Logan's jaw ached something fierce. Yesterday had been Thursday, after all. They had wanted to try something new. His throat was still sore, along with most of his lower half. Rorke was not back yet. He could not keep the time himself. As much as he hated it, he relied on Rorke for that. It had been a long time, he knew that much. His chest was bandaged for once- someone had gotten a little over-zealous with the knife, and one of his kneecaps was broken. Logan had almost died. He didn't blame the trainee, though, just the man teaching her. She had cried the whole while, and Logan felt bad for her. Her trainer broke two of his fingers 'just for kicks' on the way out. Logan didn't make any noise.

Logan was in his small room. It had been another long while, which he knew because his chest had scarred and his knee healed enough so that it didn't hurt as much to stand on when they forced him to hobble after them. His nightmares were often interrupted by oddly familiar voices. Logan never remembered what they said, but it left him feeling nice after he dreamt them up. His straps hadn't been reattached yet- he wondered if they'd forgotten. He stood up and shambled out the door, prepared to tell them. Logan knew he was supposed to have the straps.

Logan was in his usual room. His legs hurt and his knees were in agony. They had broken them both, apparently for 'attempted escape'. Escape to where, he didn't know. The pit, perhaps. His straps were back on, but they were tighter then they had been. His toes were broken this time, along with his knees. A punishment, to be sure. Rorke was not back yet, though his absence seemed to perturb his interrogators as well. They pressed another cut into him, made quiet promises- _lies_ hissed a voice from the back of his head. Nothing out of the average, then. He didn't like them very much. He didn't want to be friends.

Logan was in his room. He didn't remember being anywhere else, except for vague memories of the pit. He still heard the kind voices in his dreams, though the effect was no longer as good. It was often drowned out by nightmares anyway. There wasn't a skin-colored patch on his torso anywhere. It was a rainbow of bruises and cuts. Burns and punctures were pressed helter-skelter, as well. Rorke was still not there- Logan didn't remember why he was waiting for him. The long, silvery scar on his chest was riddled with cuts. They prefered to burn scar tissue, though. He didn't understand that, either.

Logan was in his room- there was even a little sign on his door now, even if he didn't know it. 'Logan's Room' it proclaimed in cheerful, primary colored, big, block lettering. Rorke snorted when he saw it. Logan could barely lift his head to look at him. He was mottled with injuries, and his face contorted in pain. There were very few scars on above his collarbone- just one small one on his chin and another on the tip of his left ear. "We'll give you a break today, kid. You're made of something else, huh? Third anniversary's tomorrow." Rorke... Had been gone a full year? A year? And he hadn't noticed, not really. The sharp look that had been missing from his eye for so long came back, full force. Still, he drank his water like a good boy- and promptly passed out.

Logan was in his room, but he was confused. The door was open- it was never open this long- and a man stood in the frame, staring. He seemed vaguely familiar, like Logan had known him a long time ago, and he had the bluest eyes. Logan watched him approach, listened to him mumble something to nobody, and crouch down in front of him. Their eyes met, and the other gasped. He fumbled with Logan's straps, seeming clumsy in his haste. Logan panicked just a little bit, twitching and flinching away. But then the stranger _spoke_. "Logan." Was all he said, but it was earthshatteringly profound. Logan listened.

Logan was not in his room. Logan was being _very bad,_ shuffling obediently after this not-stranger. Logan didn't give a fuck. Gunshots and the scent of smoke filled the air, burning his nose, though in reality no such things were there. Still, three full years of torture, starvation, and broken bones was not easy on a man. It didn't help that his knees had healed weirdly. And then a sudden, agonizing feeling ripped through him and he grabbed for his stomach. He tripped and fell, tumbing to the floor and hitting his head. "Shit." Logan's not-stranger hissed. That was the last thing he saw or heard for a while. The last thing he _felt_ was himself being lifted and then carried. Then Logan checked out of life for a little bit.

Logan was drifting. His eyes were closed, and he was relatively warm (that was new- not that he was complaining), but there was just one thing. "Hold this for me." His not-stranger said, and he was actually tempted to open his eyes- hadn't that been a dream? "Wha- Logan!" The most beautiful, precious, _wonderful_ thing he'd ever heard gasped, and his eyes shot open. Brother. His big brother- his _family_. Logan gave a weak smile and promptly passed out again. He didn't see the tears, and the not-stranger pretended he hadn't.

Logan was afraid. It was very loud, and he didn't much care for it. He whimpered, as he sometimes did, but expected nothing. He was shushed by his not-stranger, and his memory filtered through. Logan took a minute to gather his thoughts. Keegan, he decided, was what his not stranger was called. "Kick, how long?" Oh, his _brother_. He sounded worried. Why was he worried? Was someone hurt? Logan tried to raise his head, but a sharp pain lanced through him and he gasped. His head fell back down, and he returned to limbo.

Logan was blurring. There was much shouting. Orders, from leaders and followers (and followers learning to be leaders). A few shrieks. The colors rushing passed him seemed to mix into one. He blinked, eyes bleary and abdomen in pain. Logan's vision swam, but he looked for his brother anyway. There was no sign of him, and Logan wondered if it had been a cruel dream. Then a mask lowered over his mouth, and his eyebrows drew together. Huh? Where _was_ he? This was a rather new development. Still, he said nothing.

Logan opened his eyes slowly. Light filtered into the room lazily, letting small beams fall across his face. He was hungry, and cold. Everything hurt- oh, worse then usual, but he ignored it. Brown eyes, unusually dulled, stared up at the white ceiling. Logan inhaled, scented disinfectant. A series of hums and beeps kept a continuous beat around him. He shuddered and winced shortly thereafter. Hospital. The sound of a creaking door caught his attention. Another familiar shape drifted in front of him, stared at him like he'd disappear. His memory fogged for a bit, but he caught up with himself. Merrick. Logan's busted up, crooked fingers raised a bit, and shakily twitched out Merrick's call sign. The apocalypse began: Merrick grinned.

Logan had been in the hospital for two days. He knew that because he had a calendar now. His brother had just solemnly put it where he could see, and when the days were marked off Logan knew how long he'd been here. That made him smile internally. He was very proud of that little calendar. Often times people- doctors? psychologists- asked about his scars. Did they hurt? Not anymore; that was a silly thing to ask. Did he have dreams about them, or the getting of them? Yes. He did. Was he scared of the people who gave them to him? Not in the waking world. Not that he'd said anything; David had been there to do it for him.

Logan was allowed to leave the hospital for a brief time. He made Keegan carry him, just because he could. Not that Keegan was complaining. Logan had put on five pounds in two weeks, and he was still terrifyingly light. David cried when they had to switch bunks so Logan could be on the bottom. Logan said nothing, not even when directly questioned. His brother spoke for him sometimes, but others he gave Logan a pleading look. He tried not to wake his brother up with his thrashing too often. When he sleeps, he dreams of wandering hands and tongues and aching and pain and pain and _pain_- Logan wakes up wild-eyed, an imaginary knife clenched in his fist.

Logan takes to following after people he deems safe, hovers just a few feet behind until they dismiss him. Four days after he'd left the hospital- he _loved_ that calendar- David lets Riley in the room to see him. Instead of rushing him like they'd expected the dog to do, he trots up and lays his head on Logan's knee. Hands shaking, the gaunt young man runs his fingers through the soft fur of his dog. He cracks a smile, and David (Hesh, his mind insists) beams like he'd been handed a million dollars. Riley sleeps in Logan's bed after that- they can't get him anywhere else. The howling and barking kept people up. Logan takes to shuffling after the dog as best as he can with his awkward, crooked gait.

Logan flinches when someone playfully punches him arm. Backs away from handshakes and brofists instinctively. Anything that moves towards him a little too quickly frightens him. He cries silently when left alone with strangers, and no one can figure that out. Or, at least, they can't until one of Logan's friend's from Basic jokingly smacks his ass in a follow-up to a rather lewd joke. This time Merrick's the one getting drunk, Keegan looking horrified where he sits next to Logan. "..." Logan says nothing with his voice, but his hands twitch out a cautious 'Don't tell David'. And they don't, because they know him. Know how he'd react.

Logan forgets to eat- forgets that he _needs_ to eat. They all laugh about it, but he can hear the worry in their voices. After a while, they start to ask him if he'd eaten that day, or if he was hungry. No, he hadn't and yes, he was. Logan was good at hungry. He could manage that. He didn't feel it anymore, after all. He knew it too well. David (Hesh! HESH!) looks like someone had punched him in the gut when his hands tell them that. Keegan just nods, like he'd expected that. Then he buys Logan a quarter pounder from McDonald's. They all get him a watch together the very next morning. It has an alarm on it- it rings three times a day.

Logan doesn't even sign anything when they take him back to the hospital. He sits quietly, a blank looks in his eyes. "Just to fix your knees," David assures "You would like to go up and down stairs, or maybe run again, right?" Someone had had to carry him up or down stairs in the past nine days. The strain was too much on his awkwardly 'healed' knees. He says nothing when they take him into surgery. He says nothing when he comes back out. He screams and cries his way through the physical therapy, though. It startles the nurses- they'd all thought he was mute.

Logan gives Keegan the most pitiful look when he visits the day after the surgery. He definitely does not smuggle a package (or a dozen) of Smarties in for Logan. Merrick calls him an extortionist. David starts dumping Beanie Babies on his bed while he's sleeping. He wakes up with three of them strategically placed on his face so that they wouldn't fall, and all he can do is wonder where David gets them, because no one even _makes_ Beanie Babies anymore. Riley just howls the first two nights he's gone. He finds out that the brown eyes he'd never used properly as a child do, in fact, work very well for the menace know as 'puppy eyes'. Merrick calls him an extortionist. He knows.

Logan holds still and lets Riley lick his face. He apologizes to the dog with his posture, because Riley can't read hands, and Logan won't speak. Then he goes back to having other people carry him around, because _fuck_ walking. He should change his name to Logan Not-Walker. He blinks fuzzily, and makes David carry him back to his room so he can read the label on his medication. That, he finds out, explained quite a few things. His watch is now firmly re-wrapped around his wrist.

Logan gets another hair cut- not like the first one he'd had, because he'd been unconscious and they could do nothing but shave it to check for possible headwounds. This is not like that time. He spends the entire grace period before the hair cut shaking like a leaf, plastered to his brother's side. One finger does not absently rub the Beanie Baby he d_id not have in his pocket Keegan stop laughing_. The second the scissors touch his neck, he has a panic attack. Merrick would later dryly compare it to Rambo, and Logan would go a sort of pink. He'd bruised Keegan's ribs, punched his brother in the jaw, and flipped the poor barber over his shoulder. Somehow, he still got his hair cut. The Barber was probably a magician.

Logan dreams of Rorke. Dreams of the man (monster) taking his stress out on him. Using him as a toy, one to break into millions of pieces as he pleased. Rorke had always loved Thursdays- he always left Logan to the other Feds on Fridays, when he was around, but if he was there Thursdays were for him. He dreams mostly of the pain and fear, but he also remembers soft, semi-sweet words whispered in the dark, hot breath on his ear, rough hands leaving bruises in his skin, and he wakes up screaming in terror. The only nightmare that manages to get such a reaction out of him. David always tries to get him to talk about it, but every time he shakes his head and then buries his face into his big brother's shoulder. Often times neither of them make it back to sleep.

Logan's calendar (which he keeps time with almost obsessively) finally loses it's use on the first of January, 2030, when Logan was twenty-eight. Tears run down his face when David takes it off of the wall, but he says nothing. Instead, his crooked fingers twitch and spasm as they rapidly sign out 'Sorry! Sorry! I'll be good, i'm a good boy, i'm sorry!'. David gives him such a sad, horrified look, so defeated as he pulls the obsolete thing off of the wall. He's saved by Merrick, who staves off a panic attack by bringing in a new calendar as soon as the old one is taken down.

Logan doesn't know where they're going, only that he's in the back of a car. They're taking him somewhere- they say it's a surprise. It is- Kick is ecstatic to see him, and ends up re-teaching him to drive. Logan has no trouble picking the skill back up. He prefers ATV's to cars though, and Kick obliges. The man loved his vehicles, but he was a family oriented kinda guy too. Neptune, Kick's 'ghostly' roommate of sorts, snaps a picture of Logan. Hesh snatches it away and frames it the first chance he gets. It's a good shot of their youngest team member- a shy smile is curling it's way across his face. The wind in his hair, and against his face, makes him feel free.

Logan watched March roll by, all the while walking, running, jumping all over the place. With a war going for so long, weapons and medicine had made leaps and bounds as each tried to gain an advantage on the other. His doctors complain that he can't put weight on if he keeps burning all of the calories he gets, but he ignores them in favor of staring up at the sky in wonderment. The clouds were so high, so fresh and clean, and now that the weather was slightly warmer Riley tended to spend ages outside. Logan didn't mind; it felt like an eternity since he'd seen the sky.

Logan basks in the sun in June, still pale as a ghost. It's in the quiet that he watches the rest of the base hustle and bustle, now that the winter months are over. That's why, alone without his brother or his dog, he opens the drawer. And with trembling fingers, he hefts a single item from within. Then he stares, and stares. Maybe ten minutes pass before his breathing evens out, and he reaches for a small container (also in the drawer). Logan waits until his hands stop shaking fearfully to begin the familiar task of cleaning and sharpening his knives. It's the first weapon he's touched in four and a half years.

Logan swims through July, still not quite heavy enough to please the doctors. The salt of the sea (or chlorine of the pool) seems to soothe something in him. It's because of this that he makes the decision to, for once, do something alone. Totally alone. Leaving Riley on base with his brother and his team mates, he shuffles out of military territory and into Oldtown. It's the only title the little town of ruins and reconstruction really has, and the tiny thing still has rubble in the streets from actual earthquakes and ODIN alike. Still, it's a bit of a boost to see the thirty or so cautious, yet determined civilians returned to the area. And so it's that way, shuffling through the ruins of buildings, that he meets his waking nightmare.

Logan comes around slowly, bright sunlight assaulting his eyes as if he was hungover. And then he freezes. Wandering about the City of Ruins. Exploring buildings still trapped some 17 years in the past. He remembers everything down to the twinging feeling that something wasn't quite right. But his skills were dulled after nearly 5 years out of the field, and even if they hadn't been he still would have frozen. "You don't _write_," Rorke's voice had drawled mockingly from behind "you never _call_," Logan was perfectly unashamed to say he'd panicked, pupils contracting fearfully "I'm starting to think you don't love me anymore."

Logan sat very still, very quiet, as Rorke crouched down in front of him. "It's been a while, huh kid?" he sounded like he'd won the greatest prize of all "Did you miss me? Oh, the boys sure missed _you_." The statement was loaded, and thrown like a weapon. It worked like a charm, and Logan recoiled. It was a Wednesday evening, and the sun was sinking low in the sky. But he says nothing- _does_ nothing- just watches Rorke in silent terror. The sun disappears, and he knows that his brother (at _least_) is worrying now. Despite that knowledge, he can't help but stay put when every few minutes Rorke jerks toward him abruptly just to watch him flinch back. His chuckles nearly drive Logan mad.

Logan, through some miracle, falls asleep before Rorke. They've meandered about three miles away from where Logan wanted to be in such a short amount of time. Rorke had laughed a little bit, all those hours ago, when his watch had gone off at promptly 6:30 in the evening. Even that seemed an eternity ago. But despite the older man sleeping about as deeply as a puddle, Logan had many months of practice waking from nightmares silently. And even more hours of practice walking near silently on bare feet. The only act of blatant defiance he'd made in a long time was spent walking as quickly as he could in the direction of home.

Logan knows Rorke is following him; knows the man'd slept under thirty minutes later then Logan, knows that by the way he's dodged out of sight so many times in the last hour. But when his eyes land on his favorite dog, he grins. He knows Rorke doesn't see Riley by the way he approaches from behind, mistaking Logan's stopping for fear. Knows when he saunters up, telling him it was worth the shot. Rorke drives the butt of a pistol into one of Logan's temples, but when he wakes up he's home. Where Riley was, David followed after.

Logan, despite being safe again, reverts to his most timid state. He doesn't leave his brother's side, doesn't eat unless his brother does, cries desperately when David tries to leave. Rorke, he knows, had been captured. But he refuses to go anywhere near even the end of the compound the man is on. Logan knows they're trying to get information out of him, and Logan knows they'll get it. Just not the info they want. Weeks, months, years of being made to listen to Rorke taunt and belittle not only him but the Feds has made him privy to a few of the man's nuances. He knows the man will gloat, knows it in his bones even as he totters after his brother on suddenly unsteady feet.

Logan's nightmares resurfaced- not that they'd disappeared in the first place. No, it was just that they'd been exacerbated by Rorke's presence. His nights of silent writhing were gone, replaced by screams and sobs that woke his brother every night. The dreams of burning pain became dreams of knives slicing into his skin, dreams of dull emptiness a sudden gnawing in his stomach, dreams of, of _Thursdays_ suddenly clearer and harder to wake from. Nights where he burned he clawed his arms in his sleep until they bled. Nights where he was empty were ended by him flinging himself from his bed and tearing open the box under his bed where he guiltily hoarded _just in case._ Nights of endless Thursdays he sobbed and cried through, not waking until his brother shook him.

Logan knows the full extent of his torture has been divulged when people begin to coddle him. Treat him like he'll break if someone so much as breathes on him 'the wrong way'. But he sees a horrified respect in the men's eyes, so he doesn't lock himself away- at least, he _tries_ not to. His brother is always in a fury now, taking it out on anything in the gym. The loud sounds and obvious hate scare him into curling up in the corner. Hesh turns to ask him something, but the impotent fury blazing there makes Logan squeak fearfully and press himself further into the corner. And then the fire is gone (Hesh is gone now, too), replaced by deep regret and apologetic worry as David dashes over to check on his little brother. Hesh was still his brother of course, still part of him, but now he remembered the difference.

Logan wisps through August and looses fifteen pounds. He knows Rorke is around even if he never sees him, so the nightmares don't go away, the inability to keep food down stays, and the terror makes itself a part of his life. And Logan doesn't like that. He hates that he's become so small and scared, hates that he feels so helpless and lost. So he shuffles back to his room. He ignores the bunkbed in favor of the Drawer. He considers changing into his old fatigues but he knows they won't fit. So he takes his oldest, most well loved knife alone. Then he starts out for the end of the compound Rorke is on. Logan can't even go a quarter of the way before he has to turn around.

Logan finally gets to the building, the hallway, the very _room_ Rorke is in two months later. He's standing just outside, hand on the door, wondering how the Feds haven't come for Rorke yet. The colder air of November is blowing over him in his mind, even if he was standing inside. He shivers, and almost pushes himself away from the door and runs down the hall. But he doesn't. Instead, Logan slides into the room alone, shutting the door behind him. Rorke is unconscious, and Logan is relieved. He fingers the handle of his blade, but ultimately turns tail and flees. His courage was fading fast.

Logan stands outside the door once more, but this time he doesn't hesitate. He pushes the door open and slides in. The door clicks shut behind him, but even as he turns he can feel Rorke's eyes on him. Logan shuffles over to the man (monster(broken, ruined man)) and stands in front of him. And he stares. Rorke begins to feel slightly unnerved- Logan can tell by the way he starts taunting- keeping his eyes locked onto Logan's whiteknuckle grip on the knife. The man wields his words like a weapon, and with horrific precision. Eventually, the knife clatters to the floor but Logan does nothing but stand there in silence and take it, so the man grows more bold. However, the second he threatened David, Logan snapped. He threw a punch that caught Rorke totally off guard and sent Logan stumbling back from the force of it. He runs out the door leaving Rorke looking like a stunned lemming.

Logan doesn't think much of Rorke after that. Instead he focuses on reregaining his body mass, packing on ten pounds in as many days. He keeps himself to busy to worry during the waking hours. The nightmares let him go back to silent thrashing, but by this point he's almost used to it: Riley continues to sleep in his bed when Logan's calmer, and Logan just curls around the dog. Guns he won't touch with a ten foot pole, not even to hand them to someone else, and he still won't go anywhere alone. He still shies away from strangers, and flinches away from sudden movements or loud noises. And he sill won't talk. But today he takes Riley on a walk, instead of the other way around. Baby steps, he reminds himself.

Logan is the one to take the calendar down, come January. His hands shake as he pulls it down from the wall. But David is there with a new one, tacking it up as soon as the old one is gone. Logan takes a few deep breaths, reaching down to scratch Riley's ears. By now, he's twenty nine and his brother thirty one. 2031 the fresh calendar proclaims. There are pictures of tiny puppies with large guns on it, and it makes the corners of his mouth turn up when he sees them. But he just sits on the bottom bunk in silence, letting his eyes run over the room until they land on his Shelf. An obsolete calendar, a twenty year old photo, some dog tags, and a pile of beanie babies are stacked on it carefully. He grins.

Logan plays darts in the rec rooms during the afternoons when no one is around to talk to. At first he finds that he's luck to even hit the board, and the ones that do are crooked and strange. But after a while they begin to straighten out and eventually draw nearer to the bullseye. He snacks constantly when he plays darts, crunching away on anything they'd let him have. The people stuck on kitchen duty get to know him better and better, to the point where they talk about their kids with him. One day they give him a sandwich, the next some popcorn- one day he gets a slice of cake. Nonetheless, he gains twenty pounds in a month.

Logan walks so quietly that someone jokingly suggested putting a bell on him. He lets them have their fun before managing to sneak up on them despite the bells. It becomes a game that he plays with them, up until he spooks Merrick. The man takes the bells away, dispersing the players, and gives Logan a Look. Logan sneaks into Merrick's room and snatches the bells back before sunset that day. Then that becomes a game, too. Soon it's a back and forth between the whole base, each using subterfuge and dirty tactics to get the bells. Merrick leaves them alone if only because they're actually sharpening their skills doing it.

Logan sits up on the roof at night, staring into the early March sky. He keeps a thin blanket draped across his broad shoulders, and lets the colder air seep into his bones. Nights he does this are clearer, the nightmares further away. It had been ruiningly hot in the pit, and humid in his small room. But under the sky, with a light breeze, in the early end of March? Sometimes he fell asleep on the roof, eyes fixed on the sky. Those nights David had to come up and get him- at least that's what he thought happened. There was no way of knowing for sure, because no one would own up to it. At any rate, he always woke up in his bed when he fell asleep up there.

Logan jogs through June, watching his small amount of body fat melt away into a tiny bit of muscle mass. He feels useless sitting around idly, toying with cards or darts, and to his own thinking he'd been out of the 'game' for far too long. Of course, when he mentions that his teammates are on him in an instant reassuring and fussing- telling him to focus on healing, and gaining weight because he looked like he'd lost some and really- usually that was where he cut them off with a look. He was as better as he was ever going to get, and he knew it. The rings under his eyes were from nightmares he couldn't totally get rid of, the sharpness of his face from years of malnutrition. But there was a glint to his eyes once more, and a burning determination.

Logan remembers Rorke again in July, and this time he doesn't bother trying to be stealthy about slipping into the room. It makes him so angry to see Rorke in such obvious pain, despite his hatred (and fear) of the man. They've not fed him well, if at all- probably a 'fuck you' to Rorke, most likely meant to be mentioned to Logan later- and the mottled blue-greens of his bruises meant they were going for the solitude approach. Logan remembered that one too, shuddering at the thought. Rorke flinches slightly when the door clicks shut audibly in the quiet room, but he's far from broken. He sneers and taunts and spews venom for an hour before he realizes he won't get a rise. Logan just leaves the room afterwards, but he makes a point of getting the man some water first. He remembers that being the worst part.

Logan tries to forget about it, and does a very good job for about three days. He really, truly _hated_ Rorke- and with good reason. The man was a total psycho, who found a sick pleasure in hurting others any way he could. But while Logan despised the man with everything he had in him, he also wouldn't wish the torture he'd undergone on anybody. Not even on the man who'd killed his father, who'd ruined his life, who'd played a major part in Logan's own torture. He says nothing to his brother, says nothing to his friends, but even as he spends time getting stronger he sits in the tiny dark room and lets Rorke hiss threats and poision for hours on end. He knows they don't talk to Rorke when the starve or beat or 'interrogate' him anymore, knows the man is desperate to hear a human voice, and he knows that his friends know that too. He starts playing quiet music and the like while he sits in a dark room with his worst enemy.

Logan brings the man a sandwich one day, only to have it be regarded with blatant suspicion. But he is not like Rorke, and experiencing such cruelty for so long has burnt away his capability for it. He's done nothing to the damn thing. Logan takes a bite out of it- Rorke accepts it ten minutes later. He's actually starving, after all. Next time he comes to see the man he brings two sandwiches. The next a water bottle. Logan knows that the cameras in the halls and in the room capture evey minute, but he can't bring himself to care. It still takes nearly two months for anyone of import to notice.

Logan spends a week and a half doing nothing but glare disapprovingly at his extended family. They're concerned, of course, but they keep him on a tight leash. 'It's just Rorke' they insist. But Logan still feels that no one deserved that kind of treatment. "Stockholm Syndrome is-" Logan's glare intensifies, and he unabashedly throws a cup of water at the poor psychologist's head. David attempts to reprimand him, there to act as an interpreter, but Logan's glare has now reached a new level and he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Logan still passive-aggresively hides all of David's blankets and his sidearm, because he knows what his brother was going to say.

Logan can't hold a grudge, he finds, not anymore. Just like the ability for cruelty, it seems to have vanished in the wind. He finds he's forgiven them not even two days after his first meeting with his brand new therapist. He never says a word, but he doesn't try to sneak around either. Instead he gives them all such sad looks- he can't go anywhere alone now, and David becomes his new shadow. But he's still prone to panic attacks, and waking up screaming or crying. Being tailed all the time, even if it's not obvious, reminds him of tottering around in cold, bleak hallways with a pair of guards who liked to knock him around. Logan has a rough time of it, until they figured out the cause of his panic attacks.

Logan tries very hard not to think about it- he's tired of trying not to think about things- but it doesn't work. Still, he doesn't say anything because he also understands their point of view. But he can't just sit still and do nothing anymore, because he'd gotten passed that. So he focuses on sharpening his skills- not the stealthy ones, those were sharp enough, but things like knife throwing. Or- or- you know. Guns. It takes him another month to be able to pick one up, and two weeks after that to be able to fire off even one round. But each time after that it gets easier and easier, until he doesn't even flinch at the sound. Everyone seems pleased by this achievement, and he smiles genuinely when his big brother claps his shoulder.

Logan maintains that no one deserves the same treatment he's received, but he doesn't sympathize with Rorke as much as he might any other person. He'd spent three months closely examining everything he knows about the man. Everything. From the disastrous (yet hilarious; David and he'd both agreed it was awesome back then) time his dad'd had the man babysit for him up until now. And he remembered he'd liked the man as a kid, but he'd hated him five years ago. So he'd come to the decision that it wasn't worth the effort. Logan expected to get burned- he wasn't totally stupid. And in the October of 2031 he decided that while no one deserved it, Rorke didn't deserve his sympathy (he really, really didn't).

Logan finally gets written off by his therapist in the coldest days of early January, 2032. He'd never had Stockholm Syndrome- had actually openly admitted to hating Rorke (with a burning passion)- but there were a few things the man'd wanted to adress 'since he was already there, and all'. And it had actually helped, even if only just a little bit. Hell, his brother and he'd grown even closer during that time. Almost creepily so- they hadn't been that in tune since the Occupation. Then it'd been a death sentence not to be, but now? It was great to creep people out with, at any rate.

Logan licks his lips nervously when they suggest sending him back out to the field- a trial run, they say, just to see if he's ready to get back in the game. He's not, and he knows he isn't. But his brother looks so damn excited- is buzzing with an ecstatic energy- so he silently suggests a low-risk stealth. That seems to encourage Keegan and Merrick, because the former grins at him. So he throws himself into preparations for what he's sure is going to be a massive fiasco. Thankfully, he'd apparently put on enough weight that the doctors didn't glare at him when he began training in earnest.

Logan is incredibly surprised a few weeks later when his 'trial run' doesn't get them all killed, and even more so when he doesn't have any panic attacks during their move. After, though? When they're out of the hot zone? He hyperventilates in the shower for thirty minutes, until the hot water runs cold. Still, the blond man feels it could have gone worse. After all, they'd managed to seize the appropriate intel if nothing else. David seems grossly pleased, bumping his shoulder into Logan's every now and again. He thinks he feels better for having done the job.

Logan's watch finally breaks in the July of 2032- he's surprised it lasted that long. In the months passed since his first mission in years, he'd gone on a bunch more. Stealth seems to be his new focus, completing solo missions undetected his modus operandi. The watch'd survived being banged into rock faces, dropped into muddy pits, and even a shot to the watch face on a mission gone bad. But now his trusty watch was gone- which he didn't realize until he'd gone three days without eating and passed out. Some things still needed working on.

Logan finds Keegan and Merrick getting absolutely smashed one October night, and guesses as to why. He's right- they've finally managed to crack Rorke (Logan didn't think there was enough of the man left to break anymore). The information they're getting from him is useful- long-term plans that haven't been enacted yet, safe houses, identification of several spies and traitors. But then Merrick found out what exactly it was they did to the man in the first place. Suddenly Logan feels sick to his stomach, and he settles down next to them after snatching Keegan's beer away for himself. Rorke had been their friend once, after all. And in Logan's case, some things just hit close to home.

Logan knows they've finally realized he's never going back to 'normal'. He knows they've realized he was never broken. He knows they realized he'd changed. And he grins broadly. It had been a waiting game, to see how long they'd go on that way, like he would shatter. Logan had gotten stronger, if anything. New Year's Day 2033 rolls around, and when Logan wakes up from a (now familiar) nightmare he changes the calendar out for the new one sitting on the dresser. David is shocked when he sees it in the morning, but Logan's already gone to get breakfast.

Logan had been captured not even two months after his father had died, and had been gone for three years after that. And he'd been healing for two years after that ordeal. So it was that when the anniversary of his dad's death rolled around he'd not even noticed. Until this year, when he'd finally been strong enough (and not captured by the Federation, or seeking revenge) that it finally caught up to him. David nearly has a heart attack when he finds his brother crying his eyes out, and panics. Logan laughs himself back into tears when David trips over himself and knocks his head into the dresser trying to get to him.

Logan blinks at his brother and their extended family. It's July already- nothing of note has happened, other then a few easy missions that passed with little incident. But the second they entered the room, he knew exactly what they were going to say. They'd broken Rorke. And indeed, Merrick opens his mouth and says just that. After all this time, the immovable man had finally cracked. Whatever walls Rorke had put up had come down. Logan nods, just sits there in his usual silence. When they leave him alone in the room he and David share, he pulls out a notebook and makes a note.

Logan feels September roll around more then anything else, watches his birthday come and pass. They aren't really something he celebrates anymore. But David gets him a present anyways. He blinks in surprise at the contents, because it's a _puppy_. A german shepherd puppy. Immediately he frowns, because he won't refuse it (it's a _puppy_). Still he worries about Riley, despite the fact that he's not a particularly jealous animal. But it doesn't matter, because as it turns out Riley has no problems letting a new baby into the family. Logan names the dog Ace. Both dogs sleep in his bed- there isn't much room left.

Logan watches 2034 roll around with a grin. Ace is running around his legs, picking up on the general mood of the room, and Riley just gives Logan a Look. One that says 'do you see what I have to deal with?' quite plainly. There has been a definite turning in the tides of the war. It's no longer a slow- painfully _sloooow_- defeat, or a true stalemate. There's no clear victor, but for now they have the upper hand. Rorke… Rorke knew quite a few rather valuable things. No one had ever thought he could be captured, apparently. With the amount of information they had in advance, it was often quite easy to prevent attacks, or capture spies.

Logan sometimes has relapses- no one talks about it, or mentions it, but he does have relapses. Days where he is quiet and small; where he shies away from everything and everyone. It's so easy to say the wrong thing, to accidentally get a paper cut or knick himself while shaving, even just thinking the wrong thing by association can send him careening over the edge. Sometimes it's just a few hours, but sometimes it can be days. Days of whimpering and crying quietly, silent apologies and 'i'll be good's, and it'd breaking his brother's heart but he can't do anything about it. So Logan pours a whiskey and drinks to forget.

Logan spend months and months training Ace, who learns quickly but doesn't seem to want to follow orders. February, March, April, and half of May go by and David insists that the pup will learn. That he's young yet. But Logan insists on taking him on a mission- and on leaving Riley behind- and suddenly he isn't so sure. Ace saves both of their sorry asses, and also leads Hesh to his brother when Logan has a panic attack. That seems to calm the dog down- like he's learned something of vital importance- and Logan fixes his brother with a smug smirk.

Logan has to take a break from work for several months- he gets sick; just a cold. With a pinch of bronchitis. And some strep throat. He was really just having a wonderful time, thank you very much. At least he got to spend that time on a couch, wrapped in blankets, usually with his head in his brother's lap. But other then that the fever, coughing, and general pain just made him miserable. So Logan coughs and sneezes his way into another new year. 2035 comes into play, and the war had definitely changed. They were winning- not by much; only by the skin of their teeth- but they were winning.

Logan knows when Rorke runs out of information to give them. He also knows they can't send him back, and he knows that his torture and breaking have made the man hate them all the more. So Logan also knows that the hourglass is almost out of sand, and he knows that the thing is glued to the table. David seems to sense this as well, though neither Keegan nor Merrick, nor the torturer, nor the interrogators say anything. But even the man himself seems to realize that his time is almost up.

Logan has held lives in his hands before. More times then he'd care to count, another human being's life has been made or broken by his hand. It's too much for him anymore, after what he's seen and been through. Holding the fate of a sentient being isn't easy- it's so very, very hard. That's why he doesn't do front-lines work anymore. That's why he never leaves a trail of bodies. He knows far too well that most people have someone to go home to. But he's willing to do it once more. Logan can and will hold just the one more life. The burden is great, but he can shoulder it once more.

Logan puts a bullet between Rorke's eyes. In front of a dozen people. His hands do not shake. His mask of blankness does not make way for rage or fear. I hate you, he thinks, and Rorke says 'I know'. He doesn't need to say a word. Logan looks the man in the eyes when he doesn't- wouldn't do anything else. He can respect the man's power if nothing else. And it's Logan who notices what Keegan and Merrick do not. Sees what the man's old friends can't. It's months- years of torture at the other's hand that make him privy to it. Rorke is afraid. Logan can see it. And all at once he thinks 'I forgive you.', and Rorke says "I know."

It's the July of 2036. Logan Walker is 34 years old- almost thirty five, David, I'm not a baby anymore- but he is so much older then that. He stands and looks out at the ocean. David Walker stands to his left, and their dogs lay at their feet. The war isn't over yet- sometimes they think it may never be- but now they are winning. Rorke is dead. So are quite a few of the Ghosts. But they are avenged now. Logan runs a hand through his short blond hair, sighing tiredly. "Hey," David says suddenly, turning his head to look at Logan. But for a minute he says nothing, and then two minutes go past and he still says nothing. Logan knows his brother, though. He smiles, and bumps David with his shoulder.

And then the worlds ends. "I know." Logan says. And he does- he really, really does.

* * *

><p>Holy shit this thing is the longest fic i've ever written, and boy howdy. Well, this is a change of pace, isn't it? Poor Logan. I don't even know what to say about this. Have a big pile of Logan whump I guess. I almost feel bad for my baby. Almost. I started writing this thing in November 2014, and let me tell you it did not want to play nice. I had to write and rewrite the first three thousand words over and over. It was very tedious, but i'm proud of it.<p>

Walking on broken knees: Knees aren't _technically_ needed to walk, though walking on broken ones probably hurts quite a bit. Going up and down stairs or steeper inclines puts greater stress on the knees, hence Logan only being carried sometimes.

2030: The game takes place in 2026, three years after that it 2029, and a year after _that_ is 2030. Personal headcanon says that Logan's birthday is September 11th, 2001. Hence Logan is twenty eight on the first day of that year.

Beanie Babies: Why the hell not, eh? Also, I have no idea where they'd even get them, because I haven't seen one since 2006.

2036: Guys. I wrote a decades worth of Logan abuse, and I dunno what to say. You know what though? At least the ending is okay (I hope)

I digress; is it okay? Is it awful? Did I waste ten minutes of your life? Let me know, guys!


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